


on the failures of playing cupid

by bastards



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Atsumu is just dumb, Canon Compliant, Getting Together, M/M, Misunderstandings, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Post-Time Skip, brief mention of komosunaosa, hinata doesn't actually have a girlfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:15:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26726542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bastards/pseuds/bastards
Summary: He wants to feel happy for Hinata. That’s the thing a proper, polite person would attempt to do. Unfortunately for the conventional definition of societal politeness, Atsumu accepted long ago that he was an asshole and would forever be an asshole, and instead curses Hinata’s thriving, adorable relationship to high hell.or: what to do when the love of your life has a girlfriend.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 15
Kudos: 157
Collections: AtsuHina Exchange





	on the failures of playing cupid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mihoso](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mihoso/gifts).



> atsuhina exchange gift for mihoso!
> 
> prompt: "I thought you two were together?" In Atsumu's eyes, there is something going on with Yachi and Hinata, because she's the only girl that he's comfortable with. Instead of getting straight to the point with his feelings, Atsumu arrogantly wants to play cupid. (MSBY Era!)

The locker room is bustling, clanging doors and loud chatter echoing all around him. Atsumu buries his head in a towel, starts to dry off his hair. Sakusa wriggles out from his spot sandwiched between Atsumu and Hinata, loops a mask over his ears.

Atsumu grabs the sleeve of his jacket, mindful of where his fingers are making contact with Sakusa. “Omi-omi, any plans for tomorrow?”

Sakusa glares, eyebrows scrunching together. “No. Let go of me.” He slings his bag over his shoulder, and walks out of the locker room, slamming the door shut behind him.

Atsumu shrugs. _Worth a try_. He turns to Hinata, and Atsumu’s heart suddenly clenches a little, because Hinata most definitely does _not_ have a shirt on.

“So, Shou–” Atsumu cuts himself off before his voice can crack any further. He tries again. “So, Shouyou-kun.” He internally fistbumps himself. “Do ya have any plans for tomorrow?”

Hinata beams, and Atsumu’s eyes are instantly drawn up toward his blinding smile. Not that he was looking anywhere else.

“Yes! I’m going to Miyagi to visit Yachi-san!” Hinata’s smile reaches further up his face then, wide eyes sparkling. Atsumu feels like he may pass out.

Wait. Yachi? Atsumu wracks his brain for two seconds, the hard-drive of his mind wiped completely clean by the mere presence of Hinata. _Ah. That cute blonde one_. All Atsumu remembers is firey drive scrunched into a 152 cm package. Although Yachi always seemed nervous, fiddling with her hair, her pens, whatever she had her hands on, Atsumu recalls that she was mildly terrifying during his last nationals, unflinchingly positive and scarily put together.

Fuck. Definitely a ray of sunshine. Definitely Hinata’s type.

Atsumu can feel his heart start to shrivel up. He stuffs his things into his bag and throws his jacket on. Power-walks to the door slightly too quick to be completely socially acceptable.

“Well, Shouyou-kun, I hope ya have fun! See ya!” And with a confused tilt of Hinata’s head and a determined clang of the door, Atsumu leaves.

Atsumu’s pacing across his bedroom floor, fingers drumming against his thigh. In his other hand he holds his phone, Instagram open. His finger is sliding over the screen, obsessively refreshing, like a desperate _idiot_. He lets out a little yelp as Hinata’s post pops up at the top of his timeline. It’s a picture of Hinata and Yachi. His arm is wrapped around her shoulders, and they’re both smiling wide, despite their red-tipped noses and snow-laden hair.

 _i love her!! 🌞,_ reads the caption, and Atsumu can feel his blood boil.

He wants to feel happy for Hinata. That’s the thing a proper, _polite_ person would attempt to do. Unfortunately for the conventional definition of societal politeness, Atsumu accepted long ago that he was an asshole and would forever be an asshole, and instead curses Hinata’s thriving, adorable relationship to high hell. 

_You really had to fall for the one person everyone’s head over heels for, huh?_

He throws himself onto his bed, smashes his head into a pillow. His bed is far too large for only one person, but when he first moved into his apartment, he bought one nonetheless.

Call it a side effect of his professional athlete’s salary, combined with sharing his space with another person his entire life.

Regardless, it’s never actually _felt_ too big. But Atsumu stretches his limbs as far as they can go, and the distance feels insurmountable, the space too empty without the warmth of another person.

It’s 3 AM. Atsumu is a professional athlete that needs to be up by the crack of dawn, but his brain decidedly does not reflect the quietness of the Osaka night.

When Hinata first came back from Brazil and joined his team, Atsumu was shocked by how _different_ Hinata looked. Although still short, he was far taller than Atsumu remembered. Far more muscular too. He vividly recalls being surprised by the stark contrast of his burnt orange hair with his now tan skin.

The photograph on his nightstand taunts him. A selfie of him, Hinata, Sakusa, and Bokuto, taken a few weeks after Hinata joined the team. They all sport blinding smiles (except for Sakusa, but the dimples are visible over the mask). Atsumu wishes he could return to that time again. When it was just a fleeting crush, something he thought would pass in 2 weeks. Before he spiraled down, down, _down_. Let his heart catch aflame, build a roaring hearth from nothing but a few sticks and leftover ashes.

There’s also the issue of his sexual orientation.

He was so sure Hinata wasn’t straight. Hell, one glance at him and Kageyama at Nationals was enough to set off all the alarm bells in Atsumu’s head. Too warm, too bright, to the point where Atsumu felt like he was intruding on something intensely personal any time he shot a snarky remark toward the duo, or even existed in the general vicinity.

It doesn’t matter if he’s straight or not. The point is that Hinata is in a steady relationship with someone he could never hope to compete with. All the sexuality contemplation is doing nothing but make a dull ache blossom behind Atsumu’s eyes anyway.

Atsumu lets out a heavy breath and wraps his arms around a pillow. Although cold and floppy, if he shuts his eyes hard enough, he can almost imagine he’s cradling a warm, breathing person instead.

Morning practice is terrible, to put it simply. Running on one hour of sleep, no breakfast, no caffeine, Atsumu is his own devil and he’s made the world his hell. He barely had time to style his hair, and the strands are laying sad and floppy on the top of his head. 

His suffering is compounded when—

“Atsumu-san! Are you okay?” 

Atsumu startles, topples off the back of the bench, and he lands on the unforgiving locker room floor. Hinata’s face appears in his blurry vision, mouth turned down in a pout. Atsumu winces. His ass is sore.

“Your sets weren’t as good as usual today, so I was worried.”

Atsumu groans. He forgot sleep deprivation came with the pesky detail of not being able to give his 100%. He typically just pushes himself through it, but if even Hinata noticed, then he must’ve been terrible today.

Disappointment is a fickle thing. Atsumu usually doesn’t feel it, but it pools in his chest and clogs up his airways until he can almost feel himself choking. He doesn’t want to let them down, doesn’t want to let _him_ down.

“‘M good, Shouyou-kun.” Atsumu tries to grin one of his fox grins, but he’s sure it comes off more like a grimace instead. “I’m just tired, no need to worry.”

“Make sure you get some sleep tonight! Rest well, Atsumu-san!” Staring up at Hinata is like staring at the insufferably bright morning sun. Atsumu feels a headache coming on, but he’s not sure he can look away.

“I’ll make sure to toss ya better sets tomorrow.” 

Hinata beams, and skips away.

(“You’re so fucking obvious.”

“Shut yer trap, Omi-omi!”)

Atsumu hates his obligatory _family dinners_. Some days it’s only with Osamu, some days it’s Osamu and Suna, and some days it’s all three of them. 

Today, Osamu is hosting the dinner, meaning it’s at his fucking restaurant. And if that wasn’t bad enough already, he’s flanked by both Suna _and_ Komori. (Atsumu calls them the triple threat in his head). Atsumu already knew Osamu and Suna were shitheads, but at first, he’d hoped that Komori was the nice boyfriend. No dice. Hidden behind a rock-solid facade of a cute face and easygoing laughter, Komori was just as much of an asshole as the both of them.

Atsumu’s in the middle of being interrogated, a plate of negitoro onigiri sitting untouched in front of him.

“Yer just a coward. How hard can it be to ask him out? I mean, that’s what Rin did, and look where it got him.” Suna conceals a grin behind one raised hand. Komori lets out a tinkling chime of a laugh.

“Shouyou-kun’s taken. He has a fuckin’ _girlfriend_ , ‘Samu!” Atsumu drops his head onto the table. 

“Why don’t you clarify? It can’t hurt,” Komori says, flashing him a smile. His teeth are slightly too sharp. “Maybe she’s just a really good friend.”

Suna snickers. “I mean, I doubt you have a chance anyway, but you could at least put in _some_ semblance of effort.” Atsumu reaches forward to smack him, but Suna ducks away behind the wooden counter before he gets a chance to.

“I’m beatin’ ya 2-0 in the boyfriend department. Don’t let me beat ya in the life department too.” Osamu reaches forward and ruffles Atsumu’s hair. “The competition still exists, ‘Tsumu. Whatever ya need to do.”

Atsumu eats the rest of his onigiri in silence. It’s comfortable, being in a familiar space. Osamu cleaning up around the space, Suna on his phone, Komori chowing down happily on a bowl of ochazuke.

Of course, his brain picks this exact moment to start craving again. He yearns for the burning familiarity that Osamu, Komori, and Suna have. He wants to wake up to the same face every morning, run his fingers through soft orange hair. Kiss the smile from Hinata’s lips. It _hurts_ , pain blooming down his spine and across the span of his shoulder blades. He wants so _bad_ , and it grows and grows until he can’t even stand being in such an inherently warm, welcoming place anymore. 

He gets up and leaves without as much as a goodbye. The cold night air worms its way into Atsumu’s bones, until they’re fragile and shatterable and ice-brittle, but he can’t even find it in himself to care. The only sound he can hear is the whirling of the wind and the chattering of his teeth, echoing in the recesses of his brain. 

At least it lessens the constant-burning fire in his ribcage.

“I’m helping Yachi-san move in tomorrow!”

_What?_

“Hey hey hey, Yacchan! Why Osaka? I thought she went to school in Miyagi?”

_What the fuck._

“She got an internship here! It’s only going to be for a month, but she’s moving in with me in the meantime.”

It’s not quite winter anymore, but not quite spring either. It doesn’t really matter, Atsumu thinks, because what it _is_ is the season in which the love of his life moves in with his girlfriend. 

After that night at Onigiri Miya, Atsumu’s tried to forge his heart into a glittery, indestructible diamond. It turns out more like a hunk of coal, a little piece of graphite that can be easily whittled away into dust.

It hurts, this knowledge, chipping away at his heart in little pieces and Atsumu knows that one day he will be left with nothing. He builds reinforcements, steely resolve. Atsumu has lost enough of himself already, doesn’t want the rest of him to blaze away, vainglorious, leaving him with nothing but another pile of ashes.

“That’s excitin’, Shouyou-kun! Do ya want me to come over and help?”

Yachi melds into the MSBY Black Jackals seamlessly. Atsumu tries to fool himself into thinking he’s not bitter, but something about the way she responds to calls of “Yacchan!” and “Yachi-san!” so enthusiastically and with stars in her eyes makes him want to slap an ice cream cone out of a child’s hand and watch it splatter on the pavement.

Sakusa, his resident confidant, tells him he has a problem.

One night, they’re out at an izakaya. The responsibility of organizing the MSBY date night (lovingly nicknamed by Adriah) fell to Atsumu. Everyone is there, sans Sakusa (who is vehemently against date nights of any kind), Meian (has an _actual_ date night with his wife), and Oliver (Atsumu actually doesn’t know about Oliver. He’s the team cryptid).

Adriah and Inunaki have left already, leaning on each other, two drinks in. They’re giggly and vaguely loopy but Atsumu can’t be bothered to go after them. They should technically be mature enough to take care of themselves. (Old men, Atsumu scoffs, but he guesses it makes it easier for him.)

The only people left are him, Bokuto, Hinata, and Yachi. Atsumu realizes that he only needs to get rid of Bokuto, and the happy, _lovely_ couple can get their alone time. Hinata’s been too busy with practices, Yachi overwhelmed with work from her internship. This is probably the first time they’ve had the chance to get any 1-on-1 time since Yachi moved to Osaka. Atsumu internally fistbumps himself.

(A voice says _this is not what you want_. He ignores it.)

Bokuto has downed his fifth drink of the night, but his words are surprisingly clear and un-slurred when he utters, with the conviction of someone completely sober, “Keiji wants me to be home by 9.” A quick glance down at his watch reveals to Atsumu that it’s currently 8:30. “I have to go!” He slaps a few bills onto the counter, and ducks out into the night.

“I better get goin’ too.” When Hinata and Yachi both start to stand up, Atsumu waves his hands in front of him. “No no, you two stay here. Enjoy yer time together, ya haven’t had much time to yourselves yet, right?”

Yachi tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Uh, Atsumu-san—”

Atsumu shoots her a grin, and she sits back down. “Don’t worry about me, Yachi-kun. Have fun!”

The blast of cold air that hits his face when he opens the door is soothing, a nice contrast to the dimly-lit, almost suffocatingly warm space. The weather’s in that weird in-between, like it always is at this time of year. Some days, the temperature hits 20°C. Some days, Atsumu’s boots still crunch through snow as he makes his way to the bus stop.

Tonight, it might be considered nice, but the breeze is just a little too snappy. It nips at Atsumu’s ears and the tip of his nose, leaves his face stinging and slightly red. 

He’s satisfied. He planned this tonight to accomplish one thing, went through with his plan _successfully_. 

It was a victory.

(Then why does it still hurt?)

He did a good thing. He wants Hinata to be happy, and if he’s happy with Yachi, so be it.

(Why does it feel forced?)

He smiles.

(Tell me. Why do you still _burn_?)

The month passes by. Atsumu’s not quite sure how long it is. Some days, time trickles by like sand between his fingers, fleeting and whimsical. Some days, it moves sluggish and unforgiving, and Atsumu feels like he’s fighting for every second.

 _Spring is finally here_ , as Kita-san used to say. He always measured the seasons by the blooming and withering of the trees. Autumn, by the falling of the leaves onto the ground, crimson and gold. Winter, branches barren and covered in snow, reaching wretchedly toward the cold, clear skies. And spring, of course, by the unfurling of the petals on the cherry blossom trees.

The trees in Osaka were notoriously beautiful at this time of year, especially in the park just down the street from the gymnasium. Atsumu is reminded of this when Sakusa texts him a picture, captioned: 

_Miya. Fucking go outside for once in your life._

Atsumu groans, begins to type out a biting response when suddenly a thought lights up his brain. He imagines a lightbulb going off over his head, and snickers to himself. He opens up his text conversation with Hinata, stares at the blinking cursor for a few seconds, and starts to write.

_shouyou-kun do u wanna come to the park with me tomorrow?_

The two seconds in which the typing bubble pops up on Atsumu’s screen make him hold his breath. He loves rollercoasters, but he doesn’t particularly enjoy the way his stomach drops to his feet.

 _sure, i’d love to!_ _(◍•ᴗ•◍)✧*_

Atsumu exhales, allows himself a silent moment of victory.

Hinata will inevitably bring Yachi. They’ve been attached at the hip ever since Yachi came to Osaka (not that Atsumu minds. At all). He doubts anything will be different this time around.

They’ll all meet up at the park, Atsumu will instantly make up some dumb excuse, and he can leave Hinata and Yachi alone with the overly romantic setting. They can take a stroll among the gorgeous cherry blossoms, doing all the gross couple things that couples do. 

Yachi has an amazing last day in Osaka, Hinata gets to spend more time with the love of his life, and Atsumu can go home, knowing that he did a good job. Everyone wins.

_jokes on u omi-kun, im goin outside tomorrow ;)_

He walks to the park. It’s nice outside, cotton-candy blue skies and faint wisps of white clouds drifting across with the breeze, no remains of the snow that had been hanging on stubbornly for the past few weeks. Atsumu can feel the sunshine on his face, a comforting weight on his skin.

Hinata looks ethereal. Sunlight filters through his flaming orange hair, highlighting the freckles on his face. He’s wearing a light sweater tucked into a pair of jeans, but Atsumu thinks he could probably come to the park wearing only his pajamas and he’d still completely outshine everyone and everything around him.

_God. I really am a sap._

Atsumu’s so distracted by the mere presence of Hinata that he notices way too late that Yachi’s not there. She’s not holding Hinata’s hand, or clinging to his elbow, or even standing next to him. Nope. Yachi’s nowhere to be seen, her bubbly energy completely absent.

“Heya, Shouyou-kun. Where’s Yachi-kun?”

Hinata gives him a puzzled look, juts out his bottom lip. _Cute_. “She left yesterday.” He fiddles with the cuffs of his sweater. “It’s just us today!”

Atsumu freezes, his brain scrambling, reaching for a plan, then powering off completely. Hinata. Alone with him. Cherry blossoms blooming all around them. A fucking _park stroll_. Everything’s perfect except for one pesky detail. 

Atsumu plasters a grin onto his face, but he feels like he’s collapsing inward like a fucking folding chair. “Let’s get goin’, then!” He offers an elbow like he’s a Victorian gentleman courting a noblewoman. To his surprise, Hinata takes it.

They start walking, the air sweet, the breeze gentle. Hinata skips over a crack in the sidewalk, and his hand somehow slips into Atsumu’s. Atsumu freezes, instantly goes to pull his (undoubtedly clammy) hand back, but Hinata starts swinging their laced fingers back and forth, back and forth, and Atsumu can do nothing but keep walking. He’s wracking his brain for something to say when Hinata turns to him.

“Atsumu-san, we haven’t spent time together in so long.” 

Atsumu jerks back, shocked. “Yachi-kun has been visiting this entire month. I didn’t wanna monopolize yer time or anythin’.”

Hinata shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Look, it’s not that I didn’t want to be around ya, I just—”

And then Hinata’s grabbing his other hand and raising himself up on his tiptoes and then he’s kissing Atsumu. Hinata is kissing him and it’s a sweet press of his lips to Atsumu’s and most definitely _not a drill_.

Atsumu’s imagined this scenario far too often to be reasonable, but it’s always more heated, a lot more tongue. Maybe it would be against a wall, desperate and hot. This is close-mouthed and chaste, but it makes him far dizzier than any heady make out session ever would, sets him aflame, wisps of fire licking across his skin and deep into his body. He burns from the inside out.

Atsumu snaps back to his senses after a molasses-thick five seconds. What the fuck.

“ _What the fuck_. Aren’t ya datin’ Yachi-kun?”

Hinata lets out a bell-like laugh that has no right being that fucking adorable. “Yachi-san’s just a really close friend. I’ve liked you for years.” Hinata taps his chin, eyes brimming with question, and says, “It might’ve been since our second nationals, actually. The one that you won?” A giggle bubbles from his mouth. “I mean, there’s a reason I’ve wanted you to set for me for so long.”

Atsumu darts his eyes away from Hinata, the circuit boards of his brain too fried to come up with anything coherent to say. His big mouth opens anyway. (Hinata just does that to him.)

“So… Is this a d-date?” Atsumu flails his hands around. “Are we datin’ now, Shou-kun?” He knows he’s blushing across the apples of his cheeks and to the tips of his ears, splotches of deep red spreading over his entire face. This feels like a dream. Atsumu is floating. 

Hinata goes on his tiptoes, kisses Atsumu on the cheek. “I guess so, Atsumu-san.” He slips his hand into Atsumu’s again, lacing their fingers together. The flame in his ribcage, no longer suppressed from sheer willpower, blazes through his veins. He welcomes it with open arms.

The next day, Atsumu walks into practice. His arm is draped around Hinata’s shoulders, and a smug grin is once again splitting his face. A quick glance to the side tells him that Hinata is also flashing his signature blinding smile.

“Can I get yer attention please?” The space instantly quiets, everyone’s heads turning to stare at Atsumu. He powers on. “Guess who finally got a boyfriend!” Atsumu points to himself, teeth flashing.

A slow clap begins from the far end of the gymnasium. It’s Sakusa, stretched out on the floor. The sound echoes through the high-ceilinged space. Slowly, the other MSBY members pick it up, until disjointed applause is coming from all around the two. To Atsumu’s chagrin, Hinata picks it up too, beaming at him.

The fire still burns, but it’s comforting now. Whatever they have is fragile and new, but the force of it warms Atsumu from the inside out.

Sakusa speaks, his words carrying across the distance.

“Congratulations. Fucking finally.”

**Author's Note:**

> hey! thanks for reading :D
> 
> signing up for this exchange was an impulse decision and writing this was a struggle and a half but i'm ultimately glad i participated.. it was a good learning experience as cheesy as that sounds.
> 
> find me on twitter [@oyakudon](https://twitter.com/oyakudon)


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